


LOTR Shorts Collection

by keelywolfe



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-20
Updated: 2004-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: A collection of old LOTR short stories from Livejournal
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, I have so many of these shorts that are nowhere else but Livejournal. I hate to see them wasted there, so I'm adding them here.
> 
> I'm leaving them formatted as they were, for better or worse.

White Poppies  
by Keelywolfe  
Aragorn/Boromir  
NC-17

Notes: This is javelle's request ficlet, which was for smutty Aragorn/Boromir.

* * *

"Do you ever wish you could forget who you are?"

It was so idly asked that for a moment, Aragorn didn’t look up. The small tear in the knee of his trousers was in serious danger of becoming a large hole if it wasn’t repaired, and while he was no tailor, he was wearily familiar with sewing a seam. But Boromir’s question drew his attention and he hesitated, needle poised as he considered.

"I..." For all its simplicity, it was a difficult question. He turned it over in his thoughts, examining every angle. He could hear the crackle of the fire, just on the other side of the tree he was leaning against. The Hobbits were already huddled beneath blankets; they were growing more accustomed to the pace but still eagerly sought their rest every evening. The sunlight was dwindling rapidly and soon it would be much too dark for sewing. It was Boromir’s face that held him from finishing, solemn and curious in front of him.

"Perhaps," Aragorn finally admitted. "But even if I did not remember, it wouldn’t change who I was." Boromir frowned and Aragorn wondered what he had hoped to hear. The man crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his own tree, eyes closed.

"That is true," Boromir’s tone was grudging. Aragorn fought the urge to comment further and returned instead to his sewing. Nothing he ever said seemed to please Boromir.

The last rays were finally sinking into dusk when he bit the end of the thread off and carefully tucked the precious needle back into its place in his pack. He shivered slightly, hastily tugging his pants over his bare legs. It was too chilly a night to sit with bare legs this far from the fire.

Hands caught his own at the tops of his thighs and he startled violently, hardly soothed by the warm palms against his chilled skin. Blinking, he looked down into Boromir’s night-darkened face, more surprised that he had come so close without him noticing.

"Nothing would change who you are, would it?" Boromir asked in low tones, and what was there to say to that? Nothing could change the manner of his birth. He had a dozen names he had answered to and all were his. Even if he were to fall into a field of white-petaled forgetfulness he could still only be himself. It was all he knew how to be.

The soft touch of a mouth on his bare skin stunned his thoughts into silence, Boromir nuzzling a gentle kiss against the exposed curve of his hip and he suddenly understood.

It was bound to happen, he told himself as he sank into Boromir’s arms and let him bear him down to the ground, his mouth as soft and damp against Aragorn’s throat as it had been against his hip. Could he blame Boromir for wanting this when in the space of only moments he learned that he wanted it as well?

He cupped Boromir’s head in his hands, learned the gentle curve of his skull with the tips of his fingers. The darkness engulfed them and it was a shame, any wish of brushing aside golden hair to see the loveliness of Boromir kissing his belly to remain only a wish. Strong hands slid under his hips, holding him up and away from the cold ground and it was all Aragon could do to stifle his moan of appreciation at the hot, inviting touch of Boromir’s mouth as he took Aragorn inside it. Too briefly, only a taste of wet heat before Boromir pulled back.

"Be silent," he murmured against dampened skin. Aragorn nodded blindly, knotting one hand into his own hair and clenching tightly to keep from jerking Boromir back down. He went without encouragement, softly sucking and it was simply impossible that anyone could have such a skilled tongue. Aragorn couldn’t help but squirm, trying to arch into that knowing mouth but the arms wrapped around his hips tightened, holding him prisoner for this sweet torture.

He wished he could say something, whimper his need, cry out with the pleasure of it all, sounds catching at the base of his throat to be choked away to keep from frightening nervous Hobbits. Or worse, to interest curious ones.

Instead, he closed his eyes and bit his lip when it all became too much and he spilled his pleasure over Boromir’s stroking tongue, sinking into this gift, such as it was. Such a brief moment of forgetfulness.

Boromir’s mouth tasted like salt, his lips too-hot against Aragorn’s much colder ones. He helped Aragorn finish struggling into his pants, easily fastening them when Aragorn’s fingers would have fumbled.

He wanted to say something, knew that he should but exhaustion was tugging at him and Boromir’s arms were warm and comfortable, and asked nothing from him.

"Nothing would change what you are." Boromir murmured into his hair. He sounded so sad and Aragorn tried to struggle against sleep, wanting to say something although what, he did not know. A hand was rubbing soothing circles against his back and Aragorn finally surrendered, sliding into quiet oblivion of sleep.

-finis-


	2. Chapter 2

As per a hopeful thought of the proprietor of the Snowsex challenge, luckykitty, here is an Aragorn/Boromir ficlet.

Title: Snowfall  
by Keelywolfe  
**

The fire was burning low in the early morning hour, hardly more than a glimmer of red coals in the darkness. Snow was still falling, a scattering of tiny flakes settling on the blanket-draped mounds that surrounded what was left of the fire. The largest mound was closest, a pile of Hobbits buried together with only tufts of hair visible. Next was Gandalf, and he too was buried in his blankets, his hat pulled low on his head to offer whatever protection it could.

Furthest from the fire were the Men, who slept warily and with their swords close at hand. Or sometimes, like now, not at all.

Still wrapped in a shell of blankets, Boromir was leaning against an outcropping of rock and trying very hard to remain silent, a difficult task with Aragorn beneath the blankets, doing things with his tongue that Boromir had never before imagined.

Biting his own tongue, Boromir clutched at Aragorn's shoulder, resisting the urge to grab the back of his head and simply push him down, to force him to stop this merciless teasing. A soft flicker of tongue, of fingertips, over the crown of his shaft had him hissing for breath and he arched up hard, once, Aragorn riding out his movements easily before pressing him insistently back down.

Such a wicked mouth, he thought hazily, incredibly hot, and he had been with courtesans who were not so skilled as this. His hands had found their way into Aragorn's hair, clenching tightly, and he forced himself to relax, petting gently instead.

It was not uncommon for soldiers to seek a little relief in the arms of their comrades; indeed, Boromir had done it before a time or two. But that was hardly more than a rough hand slipped inside the others breeches and a few minutes of earnest stroking, certainly nothing like this. He would have been appalled at the very suggestion of more...was it only a week ago?

This was not something he would have ever considered doing with one of the men of the guard, but Aragorn had proven to be very...persuasive...when he wanted something. And he did want this; that was obvious. Never did he ask for the favor to be returned, never had he insisted on more than the touch of Boromir's hand and yet Boromir was finding he was tempted...though perhaps not this morning. The Hobbits would be stirring soon, as would Gandalf, and Boromir would as soon they finish this before that rather than after.

A single flake of snow fell on the tip of his nose and Boromir tried to shake it away, reluctant the release his hold on Aragorn. There was a heady power in this, in knowing exactly whom this was on his knees before him, sucking gently, and then stronger, varied pressure that had Boromir sweating even in this chill, struggling to remain silent.

Legolas was sitting across from them, far enough away to be little more than a shadow. The Elf did not sleep, Boromir knew, and it had taken him some time to grow accustomed to that. A creature that did not sleep seemed terribly unnatural to him; it had made him wary and falling asleep himself had been difficult, knowing he was being watched. After a time it had become almost a comfort, though certainly not at this moment.

The sharp edge of teeth against his skin drew a muffled cry from Boromir even as Aragorn lapped softly at the abused skin, easing the tiny pain. It was too much, too close, need almost a pulse within him and Boromir could stand it no longer.

"Please, do not draw it out," he whispered, uncaring whether Legolas heard him or not, and suddenly he knew why Aragorn enjoyed this so. Any power he had thought to have was only deception, an illusion of dominance; it was Aragorn who truly held the reins in this ride, and finally Boromir let go, gasping and pushing upward as he spent himself into Aragorn's greedy mouth.

Aragorn's touch gentled, soothing him as he shook with the aftermath of release, and after a moment he shifted upward until he was straddling Boromir. Hardly visible in the dimness, but Boromir raised a hand to Aragorn's cheek regardless, finding his lips by touch alone. His own mouth followed the path of his fingertips and he met Aragorn's lips with his own, the taste hot and bitter against his own cold lips. He felt Aragorn smile and knew without sight that there was triumph within it.

So he would master me like this, Boromir thought, already reaching for the ties of Aragorn's breeches. Or perhaps not, and it was not long before Aragorn was choking on tiny sounds of his own, eager and nearly too loud in the soft hush caused by the snow.

-finis-


	3. Chapter 3

Untitled Threesome Part 1

Pairing: Legolas/Boromir/Aragorn

**

There was very little in Middle Earth that could truly disturb Boromir of Gondor. He had been raised with the knowledge that one day he would take his father's place as the Steward of Gondor and with that knowledge came consciousness of the responsibilities that came with such a duty. It was true that at times his temper could cloud his thoughts, but as a trained warrior he would never let fear do the same.

Still, there was something about the bathing rooms of Rivendell that Boromir found quite unsettling, though he could not think of why.

It could not be the public nature of it; bathhouses were the way of things in Gondor as well, though he had gone to them but rarely himself, preferring the clean chill of river water to murky depths of the tubs used by countless men with fresh water added only to keep the tubs filled rather than going through all the work to change it entirely.

Aside from the fact that both were indoors Boromir could claim no relation between those bathhouses and this one in Rivendell. This water was clear as a summer sky, as pristine as the rest of the places Boromir had seen here and instead of several wooden tubs scattered about the room, there was but one large pool in the center, seemingly built into the floor and the water had already been heated though Boromir knew not how.

Unsettling or not, there was a certain appeal to warm water, he admitted and certain parts of his body agreed that it was far better than washing in a river where you might see a chunk of ice float merrily by. For all the oddity of their ways and their exasperating penchant towards appearing mysterious, the Elves did have the right of it where some things were concerned.

Boromir was taking it upon himself to enjoy the hospitality of his hosts daily; when the Company finally departed on their quest there was no guessing when any of them would get a chance to bathe, or indeed if they ever would again. With the idea of months of travel with unwashed Hobbits and Dwarves in his head, Boromir had decided he'd best take his pleasures while he could.

In the nighttime hour he relaxed in the bathing pool for as long as he could bear it, marveling as the water swirled around him of its own accord. Truly these baths were far too decadent, he decided one night as he sleepily rested his head against the rim of the pool. He had not slept so peacefully in years as he did after soaking in this warm water, and if he did not know all too well the mocking he would receive for it, he would have been pleased to arrange for something similar back in his home city.

A shame, he lamented, that this would end, and quite soon at that. Truly a shame.

"It would seem that we are not the only ones who thought to relax in the baths this night."

Startling, Boromir sat up quickly, automatically shifting away from the voice, his hand shifting warily to the knife he'd left on the floor nearby. He stopped immediately when he saw who the invaders were, lest he amuse them more than he already had and he was abruptly reminded as to why he preferred to bathe in the river. He sighed and relaxed back into the water, resigned to sharing his bath this evening.

There were no smiles on their faces, but Boromir was certain he had seen amusement in their eyes. Aragorn, and the Elf who was to travel with them, blast and damned if Boromir could remember his name, and why could not Elves choose normal names for their children? Not that his people could speak much on that; Aragorn, son of Arathorn, indeed. He might well be Isildur's heir, but he was no King of Men. To Boromir's eyes, Aragorn was more of an Elf than a Man, in his ways if not in his appearance. Still, they were certain to be traveling together for some time. Better that they should be on friendly terms here, in this place of peace, before attempting such a journey as they had before them.

He nodded a greeting at them, and closed his eyes, listening as they both began stripping off their clothing, talking softly in the language of the Elves.

This separate room had been designated for use by the guests, though Boromir had noted, with some disgust, that the Dwarves had not made much use of it unless they did so while he slept. A thoughtful gesture by the Lord of Rivendell, and one Boromir had quite forgotten. The Hobbits seemed to prefer the mornings for their ablutions, so he had had the bath to himself at night for the past several days.

Odd that Aragorn would choose to use this bath. He had been under the impression that Aragorn was not precisely a guest in this place, but it would appear that he wished to join his friend... Laurelin? No, that was the one who ran the kitchens. Something similar, though, if only he could think of it...

Curiosity was pricking at his thoughts, and Boromir found he could not resist watching them undress from beneath his lashes, his eyes on the Elf. Despite his opinions on their names, there was something about Elves that called to him, softly, a certain otherworldly beauty, and this Elf was no exception. Ere to his journey here, Boromir had seen Elves only in paintings, and most of the tales he had heard, though they often had not cast them in the most favorable light, had only added to his interest.

Aside from that, Boromir admitted to a shameful curiosity as to whether Elves were as hairless on the rest of their bodies as they were on their faces, and as it wasn't a topic easily brought up in idle conversation, this would seem the best way to find the truth of the matter.

His tunic was already removed and set neatly folded on one of the benches that lined the wall, and Boromir tried to watch without appearing to do so as the Elf loosened the ties on his breeches, chuckling at whatever it was Aragorn had said to him.

Probably some jest about him, Boromir thought with faint annoyance, so very Elvish to speak in a language unknown to someone else in a room. The thought irritated him so that it took him a moment to realize Aragorn had spoken to him, and in the Common Tongue at that.

"Best not fall asleep in there. We've yet to have anyone drown in the bathhouses and I would rather you were not the first."

Mortified, Boromir sat up, saying, "I am not asleep," yet his words were drowned in the splash of water as Aragorn and his friend Elf clambered into the tub. A tiny wave struck him full in the face and Boromir sputtered indignantly, wiping uselessly with a wet hand.

His 'guests' didn't seem to notice as they settled into the water with a chorus of sighs. "It was kind of them to provide us with our own bath," the Elf murmured, obviously as pleased as Boromir had been a scant few minutes before. Aragorn had settled into his side of the bath and did not seem inclined to speak at all and Boromir was irked to find his opportunity to see the Elf naked had passed, the water deep enough to conceal quite well the very parts Boromir had wished to see.

"I doubt they meant it as a kindness," Boromir sniffed, unwilling to let go of his displeasure. Perhaps if he were rude enough the two of them would leave and give him some peace. "Likely, they wanted to spare their sensibilities of the sight of Dwarves and Men without their clothes."

Peace seemed that much more unlikely as Aragorn and Legolas both laughed, and Boromir felt his anger rising at being the source of some unknown jest, biting his tongue as he vowed not to answer any more of their nonsensical questions. Aragorn had obviously gone daft from spending too much time in this sort of company.

"It is not their sensibilities they wish to protect, but rather yours," Aragorn replied finally, humor still evident in his voice. "I'm sure they thought you might not appreciate some of the aspects of Elvish baths."Irritation prickled its way up Boromir's spine until it reached his head, waging a battle and eventually destroying his vow not to speak again. "I doubt any secret they wished to hide could be so offensive to me," he replied coolly, not bothering to open his eyes. No doubt some meditation on the clarity of the water, or some such nonsense that Elves seemed prone to.

"Oh, surely not." Something about the Elf's tone made Boromir slant a glance in his direction; he was giving Boromir a look that, had it come from any other than an Elf, he would have surely called it sly. "I should think I could reveal the secret without risk of traumatizing you for all time. If you like."

Unwanted curiosity burned within him, taking the place of his irritation. "Aye, all right then. What is it that Elves do so differently?"

"Well, for one, if I were in a bath amongst others of my kind, I should not be surprised were someone to do this." Strange, liquid warmth surrounded the lobe of his ear and Boromir opened his eyes in shock as the Elf began to gently suck on the tender flesh.

The Elf was gone before he could react, moving with a gentle wave of water to his former place. Boromir stared at him, searching for words, yet his mind had blanked at the Elf's first touch.

A soft chuckle came from his other side, and Boromir glanced to Aragorn, who murmured laconically, "You have not changed overly much since last we spoke, Legolas. You are still a flirt and a tease."

"Nonsense," the Elf replied with a sly, and yes, Boromir could see now that it was sly indeed, smile. "A flirt and a tease is one who does not carry out his promises." He cast a last glance at Boromir, who was certain he could see startlingly dark promises in those blue eyes. But surely not, he thought, sinking deeper into the water and casting his own eyes downward so the Elf might not see his confusion within them. Foolish to think an Elf might hold an interest in Men, particularly this one who could easily satisfy whatever curiosities he might have with the friend who sat next to them.

The Elf, Legolas, his mind helpfully supplied, said nothing more and Boromir found he had finally gather enough of his wits to speak. "If that is what you are accustomed to in Elvish baths," he murmured, "Then truly, it must be difficult for you to endure the hardship of bathing with Men, rather than enjoying the delights of your own people."

"Very kind of you to think of it, but then, did you not say that I could not offend you?" Legolas replied easily, and he could not be simply imagining the challenge in Legolas' voice, Boromir decided, nor the wickedness in the curve of his smile, and he thought it might take a much greater fool than he to refuse it. A glance at Aragorn told him nothing; for all his earlier concerns about Boromir drowning, the man appeared to be asleep. The Elf had not moved, reclining against the side of the tub he watched Boromir lazily, waiting.

Well, it was often said that an adventure untaken was an adventure wasted.

"I did say that, indeed," Boromir replied, finally, and he had hardly the time to see the bright flash of a smile on the Elf's face before he had returned to Boromir's side and again, soft, wet lips caressed his ear. Boromir shivered and let his eyes slip closed. "Perhaps I spoke hastily," he amended, the huskiness of his voice betraying him.

"Those who speak without thought often speak the truth," Legolas whispered, his hands seeking beneath the water. He found Boromir's own hand and lifted it from the bath to his lips, catching droplets from Boromir's fingertips with the tip of his tongue. "But perhaps you did not," he continued, his breath warm against Boromir's palm. "Tell me, then, how far must I go to offend you?"

"Much further than this," Boromir breathed, growing suddenly impatient with the Elf's teasing. He looped an arm around Legolas' neck and pulled the Elf close to him, finally tasting the lips that had teased him so.

A light gasp of sweet breath was the only response from the Elf, who remained still within Boromir's embrace, until the Man began to fear he had erred. Perhaps Elves did not kiss others upon the mouth. The idea was not unheard of and Boromir began to draw back regretfully, readying an apology.

Yet almost as quickly as he thought of it, Legolas seemed to recover from his surprise and began to respond to the kiss, his tongue deft and cool as it slipped within Boromir's mouth, tasting strange and overly sweet, like the wine so favored by the Elves. He settled himself easily into Boromir's lap, a sudden shock of naked, slick flesh pressed against his own and with it came a surge of unpleasant reality as his more practical side, the son of the Steward of Gondor, questioned the wisdom in this.

Boromir broke the kiss to look at the Elf, who seemed to take that as an invitation to explore other areas, his lips trailing downward, past the line of his beard to nibble at the bare flesh of his neck. A tiny sound escaped Boromir and he caught at Elf's shoulders, his hands tangling of their own will in the wet strands of hair caught there.

"I would have thought you would prefer your companion for such things as this," Boromir grated out and regretted saying it as soon as the words passed from his lips, because certainly now the Elf would join Aragorn rather than stay with a scarcely known and truly Human man. He was not certain that he could sit here and watch them, yet he was not at all confident he could leave if they did begin with each other.

Legolas paused, and pulled back to look at him. "Indeed?" He seemed to ponder the idea, his hand sliding down Boromir's arm almost absently. "But then, what of his preferences?" He tilted his head enough to look at the other Man, who was resting against his side of the tub, seemingly oblivious to their antics. "Aragorn?" Legolas called softly, "Boromir posed an interesting question. Do you..."

"I heard perfectly well what Boromir asked," Aragorn replied, eyes still closed. "And I would rather that my preferences were not debated in my presence."

"Ah, Aragorn prefers wordplay to loveplay in the bath," Legolas laughed. "One would think you were..." He said something then in his own language and though Boromir could not understand him, the goad he heard in the Elf's tone seemed enough that Aragorn opened his eyes.

"Name calling should be reserved for children," he said mildly and Legolas laughed.

"And no children should be in this bath, that is for certain!" the Elf teased, and Boromir gasped as Legolas' hand slipped beneath the water and encircled him, sliding lightly down the length of his cock and pausing to cup the heaviness beneath. Such easy intimacy in the touch, the Elf never giving pause even as half a protest rose from Boromir, who was startled at the abruptness of the caress.

"Relax," Legolas whispered, his other hand smoothing a path low on Boromir's stomach before joining the first. The water seemed almost too warm and Boromir could dimly feel sweat making slippery trails down his back as he pushed into the slick tunnel formed by the Elf's hands. That such a pleasure could be had in the bath had never occurred to him, though he could admit no surprise that it was the Elves who'd had the thought.

So intent he was on Legolas' busily working hands that Boromir nearly flinched as he felt lips once again on his ear, and then teeth, worrying the lobe ungently and Boromir hissed out a curse yet did not pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip on the Elf, pulling him closer and trapped his hands into stillness between them. So close were they now that he could feel the Elf's shaft pressing against him, and quickly, before he lost his nerve Boromir dipped a hand between them and caught it in his grasp.

Legolas let out a soft cry, and shuddered, arching his hips upward eagerly. "Ah, Men do have good ideas," he laughed, breathlessly, his voice catching as Boromir slid his hand lower and finally satisfied his curiosity. There was fine, soft hair between the Elf's legs, catching lightly on the calluses on Boromir's fingers but Legolas did not protest with anything more than an impatient thrust of his hips.

Obediently, Boromir tightened his grip, both of them stroking the other in an almost awkward shift of arms and elbows, if Boromir were ever to claim an Elf could be awkward. He buried his face into the curve of Legolas' shoulder, rubbing his own bearded face against the smooth skin and earning a delightful squirm in return. Never had he thought to do this with an Elf, nor had he ever considered the strange pleasure of it, the delicious skill of Elvish fingers on his skin, creating their own rhythm apart from Boromir's. Soft gasps were escaping Legolas now, and he trembled lightly, his own hands moving quicker, and Boromir opened his eyes almost absently, wishing to see the Elf's expression when he came.

On the other side of the tub, Aragorn was watching them, through half-opened eyes. Their eyes met, briefly, and Boromir froze, heat flooding his cheeks. He almost didn't hear the Elf's disappointed protest, his hips arching impatiently even as his hands tightened on Boromir. That had the effect of ending his paralysis and he yelped slightly, leaning back to frown at Legolas.

Legolas immediately lightened his grip and met Boromir's frown with one of his own even as he panted softly, still rolling his hips against Boromir. Even more beautiful like this, cheeks flushed and lips reddened. At least in this Elves were like Men, their cool cryptic elegance smeared into sweaty need. The ends of his hair were wet, darker gold that clung damply against his shoulders, the braids just above the points of his ears looser in the heat. Another stark reminder that this was not a Man in his arms, and Boromir automatically looked over Legolas' shoulder, at the other Man who was in the room.

Aragorn met his eyes evenly but did not speak. Both his hands were resting on the sides of the tub. It would appear he was only watching them, his breath even and calm, and this time Legolas followed Boromir's gaze, looking over his shoulder at Aragorn. He made an impatient noise as he turned back, his hands once again moving over Boromir.

"Does it bother you?" he leaned forward to whisper against Boromir's ear, one of his hands curling around Boromir's, urging it back into motion. "Have I finally offended you?"

"N-no," he stuttered, closing his eyes against those watching him. "No," he repeated, stronger this time and he rubbed his thumb over the tip of the Elf's shaft, savoring his pleased moan. "I would fear more offending him."

"If he did not want to be here, he would leave."

True enough, and Boromir was soon smothering his own cries against Legolas' shoulder. The Elf wriggling in his lap, warm and strong against him, as lithe as an eel and making little, frantic noises deep in his throat. The water sloshed dangerously around them, splashing over the side to patter loudly against the floor but Boromir could not spare a thought to be concerned as fresh heat spilled over both their hands, the Elf kissing him suddenly, his tongue clever and warm in Boromir's mouth.

The water seemed all-too hot now, clinging silkily to his skin and drawing sweat to bead on his face and shoulders, tickling little paths downward before a deft tongue lifted them away. Boromir caressed Legolas' back and shoulders with damp, trembling fingers, his skin softer than anything Boromir had imagined. He sighed as Legolas raised his head to kiss him once more, a gentling kiss that came with the end of a coupling and Boromir accepted it regretfully. Unexpected as it had been, it was also one of the most pleasant surprises he'd had in some time. He cautioned himself against expecting more than that.

Still, he felt a slight twinge within as the Elf moved away to sit next to him, lolling against the edge of the tub. He saw Boromir watching him and ran his tongue over his teeth in an almost obscene gesture that nearly had Boromir laughing. Never had any of the stories he'd heard mentioned this side of the Elves, this playful eroticism. Such fascinating creatures...

"I trust I did not offend you," asked Legolas, his voice low and amused.

"No, you did not,"

"You should get some sleep. Tomorrow is likely to be a long day for us all," he said lightly, and there was a prompt in his voice that pained Boromir to hear and he noticed that neither he nor Aragorn made a move to do the same.

"Yes, I believe I should," he said at last, refusing to wait for a second and perhaps less tactful encouragement to leave. He supposed he was ridiculous then, that in the space of a single remarkable coupling he had allowed himself to fall as predictably as any mortal who laid eyes on the beauty of an Elf. It was of no matter, he decided, daring a last touch to Legolas' shoulder before he climbed from the tub. If he were only as foolish as other Men, and not more so, then he would have no regrets.

A last glance at the waters showed them to be as clear as when he had entered them, but Boromir felt no surprise at that. If all Elves behaved as such in the bath then they would need their little tricks lest they do nothing but change bathwater all their days. He dried himself and dressed quickly, though both Aragorn and Legolas had closed their eyes again. When he was finished he left without a word of parting nor did he receive one, and when he heard a splash of water and soft laughter behind him, he did not pause to look back.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Untitled threesome-fic, Part 2

Legolas/Boromir, Legolas/Aragorn, Aragorn/Boromir, and anything between.

**

Though it had been in Rivendell for thousands of years, the Elves did not frequent the shrine to the shards of Narsil, except in moments of respect. Yet Aragorn had always been drawn to it, even in his childhood when he had hardly understood its significance, and though it was cooler in the shaded terrace and the light was often dimmed from the trees overhead, he found it a relaxing place to sit and read.

He was deeply absorbed in his book when a pair of boots appeared next to him, one foot tapping softly, and Aragorn followed them up to Legolas' expectant face. The Elf crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a stone pillar, shaking his head in mock dismay.

"Why do you come here to read, when there are seats aplenty out in the clean air and sunshine?"

"It is quiet here, I am comfortable, and I am less likely to be disturbed," he replied, pointedly, but Legolas only laughed and moved to crouch next to him.

"And I have ruined it for you," said Legolas, his mournful tone spoiled by the humor beneath it. He propped his chin on his hand, peering at the book in Aragorn's lap with distaste. "You missed the morning meal for this? I know you awoke early. I went to wake you myself only to find you had managed it on your own."

Aragorn ignored him, deliberately turning another page in his book. He'd managed to read only a few words before a distinctly Elvish head blocked his vision. He wanted a few impatient moments and when it appeared that Legolas intended to read the page in its entirety while he was upside down, he finally gave into the urge to cuff Legolas in the back of the head.

He yelped and rubbed his head, making far more of the injury than it could ever be. Before Aragorn could even tease him for his posturing, Legolas had knocked the book away and clambered into his lap. Pressed nearly nose-to-nose with the Man, Legolas said somberly, "I should have thought you would have needed your rest, after that vigorous washing last eventide."

"You think much of yourself," Aragorn snorted, straining to reach his book. With one hand, he managed to close it before the pages were bent and ruined, and he set it aside, conceding silently that his reading was finished for this day. Legolas waited until he was finished, his expression that of one who was greatly put upon as he propped his elbows against Aragorn's chest, ignoring the Man's grunt of discomfort as he rested his chin upon his folded hands.

"Do I, indeed?" asked Legolas, and he waggled his eyebrows comically. Aragorn could not help his laughter, bemused by Legolas' playful mood. It ended in a gasp when Legolas leaned forward swiftly and bit his ear, apparently not appreciating his humor. "You suffer from poor memory, my friend," Legolas whispered hotly, his mouth busily exploring. "Perhaps you are feeling your age?"

"Perhaps," he said, faintly, closing his eyes. He let his head drop back, resting against the stone pillar behind him and Legolas quickly took advantage of the newly accessible skin. "I would have thought after that bath even your appetites would be sated for a little while."

His retort was muffled against Aragorn's neck, but it was probably for the best. He did pause in his explorations long enough to murmur, "Boromir was a fine specimen of a Man, and more eager than I would have thought."

"Yes," said Aragorn, trying to still Legolas' hands before they unfastened his tunic. If another Elf were to come upon them like this, it would likely result in an evening of jest at their expense, but Elves were not the only beings in Rivendell at the moment, and he doubted Elrond would be pleased if they scandalized his guests. "By the by, I do thank you for that."

Legolas was still working at fastenings, slipping out of Aragorn's grasp as if it were but an illusion. "It was no great hardship," he said, laughingly, "And I would be no true friend if I did not offer my assistance where I might."

"And what will you do if he returns to the baths tonight?" Aragorn dared, softly, and Legolas stilled. He leaned back, a stray beam of sunlight shimmering through his hair as he moved, and looked at Aragorn oddly.

"I had not considered it," he admitted, his hands still absently stroking Aragorn's chest, plucking at lacing of his shirt though he did not pull them free.

"Perhaps you should," Aragorn smiled crookedly at him and let his goading shine in his eyes, looking up at the Elf through his lashes. "My friend."

"Yes," Legolas said, and he slowly returned the smile. "Perhaps I should."

**

"Ah!" Boromir moaned, unable to stifle his cries as clever Elvish hands smoothed their way past his hips, delving into the warm hollow between them. Slim fingers circled and stroked, a mockery of assistance as they flirted in exactly the manner Boromir might have expected from an Elf before Legolas' surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his heavy cock, squeezing firmly. He cried out again, water splashing as his hands scrabbled for Legolas' shoulders, clinging to the Elf desperately.

This was not what he had expected to be doing this evening.

His day had been spent prowling through Rivendell in the hopes of finding something to entertain him. Hours spent in song and poetry did not appeal to him, though the Elves never seemed to tire of it. He thought it no wonder they spent their baths as they did, since it would seem Elves hardly slept, if at all.

His search had been getting desperate and he had been to the point of asking Lord Elrond if there was some chore he could do, be it as lowly as chopping wood, when he came across the young halflings at play.

They seemed hardly more than children and at times acted as such, talking to him with great boldness, as though they had known each other for years. The one called Pippin had been especially forward, eager for stories about great battles and of Gondor, and both subjects being dear to Boromir's heart, he had obliged them for several hours, until the Sun was making its descent and it was time for the evening meal.

His tales, it would seem, did not hold against their desire for food, though young Pippin had all but wrenched a promise from him to teach him something of sword fighting. It had been a pledge easily given, for such skills would be needed on their journey, and Boromir was relieved to think he would have a task to fill his time until they departed.

Aragorn and Legolas he had seen only in passing, seated far away from him at the tables, Aragorn next to the Lady Arwen, and Legolas with several Elves whom Boromir did not know. They did not attempt more than a brief nod in greeting and Boromir accepted that. If casual couplings were the way of things with Elves, then he would not consider the matter to be otherwise.

Still, looking at Legolas had brought the faintest of regrets to ache within him, that a single chance, though well spent, was already done with, and Boromir had kept his eyes on his plate, excusing himself as soon as the meal was concluded.

He had thought nothing of coming to the baths again this night, assuming that whatever curiosity or lunacy had prompted the Elf before had been satisfied, and the temptation of warm, soothing water was not one he tried to resist. Nevertheless, he had hardly arrived and slipped into the water before again his peace had been disturbed by the arrival of Man and Elf.

Uncertainty had made him greet them offhandedly and it had been returned in much the same manner, the pair of them chattering together in Elvish like gabbling birds. He would almost have guessed the night before to be nothing more than some foolish wisp of a dream, and yet, once they had joined him in the water, it had been hardly a moment of silence before Boromir had felt a wet hand trail lightly over the side of his face. Slim fingertips tested the feel of his beard, moving lower, and despite any misgivings he had, Boromir could not find it in him to refuse.

Certainly Elves had a talent at this, he thought hazily, and pride be damned, and damned again. Boromir surrendered this battle, outfoxed and outmaneuvered, and it seemed a wealth of wet, naked skin challenged him on all sides.

Boromir reached out, intent on filling his hands with sleek Elvish flesh and found his hands caught and trapped as surely as he himself was, held briefly by painfully tight fingers before Legolas released him, and he read the warning in that touch as clearly as if it had been written on parchment. He stunned himself by obeying it, far more used to giving orders than receiving them, yet who could bear to ignore one so decadent as this? If Legolas wished only to touch him, he was not about to begin refusing at this late hour.

Legolas' fingers glided back down between his legs in rhythmless motion, at once light and brutally unyielding and Boromir's groans were quickly becoming pathetic. Hardly worthy of a warrior yet he could not gather the strength to care. The Elf pressed closer still, skin smooth and naked, and hotter even than the water, the unnatural warmth of something not mortal.

"It seems you were correct," Legolas murmured into his ear, the first words he had spoken to Boromir since this had begun. "I have not been able to offend you. Shall I try harder?" And his grip tightened, his thumb circling the crown of Boromir's shaft, and the Man gasped, struggling not to spill himself from that alone.

"You may try," Boromir panted, the challenge in his voice weak even to his own ears.

The Elf's voice was warm and secretive in his ear, rich with humor, "Very well, then." His teeth scraped over Boromir's ear, lower, and he squirmed in ticklish discomfort as the Elf plucked lightly at his beard with his lips.

It was difficult, he decided dizzily, to decide what to feel, sensation chasing its own tail through his body as one hand or another, wrapped in the water's warmth, sought out any secret place of delight. He felt as little more than an animal ensnared in a trap, yet no trap could offer such as this, unless it were possible to die of pleasure.

Sounds were escaping him, harsh and deep and it would have embarrassed him at any other time, though now he would dare anyone to have a creature such as this writhing in their lap and remain silent.

Such was his need that Boromir did not think to protest as he found himself suddenly moved, the same roaming hands that had teased him so relentlessly sculpting him to kneel at the edge of the tub, shaping him so that he might rest his arms on the rim. He was more out of the water than in, cool air prickling his damp skin and Boromir took a shaky breath, forcing his muscle to relax even as Legolas trailed wet fingers over his back and lower in bold exploration.

So it was to be like this, then, on his knees before this Elf, this Legolas, and worse, though he could not see him Boromir knew that Aragorn was still there, perhaps watching calmly as he had before. It was both a wound to his pride and a challenge, to allow this.

Some of his men did these things frequently, he knew; with each other, or lovers who waited, patiently or otherwise for the strong hand and will of a warrior to satisfy whatever cravings they had, fierce couplings to combat fear in these dangerous times.

His own lovers had been few and far between, far too costly to risk an involvement with one of his men, and costlier still to bed any lady who could not be bought with a handful of coin. There would be no sons of his, despite his father's pleas. Enough that he spent his time wondering at when he would be forced to mourn his brother without worsening it by putting yet another into this same madness.

It came to him then that this was the first time he had been with anyone just to be and for whatever reason Legolas was doing this, Boromir would not say him nay, not yet.

After all, he still had yet to be offended.

Legolas was pressed closely to his back, one of his hands smoothing Boromir's wet hair away from his face so he might press his mouth there, and he seemed to have some fascination with ears, Boromir noted vaguely, his tongue roaming as though he would memorize every curve.

His other hand was low on Boromir's back, not unnoticed as it moved relentlessly downward, stroking softly, trying to reassure perhaps, and Boromir had hardly a moment to spare in annoyance that Legolas did not simply get on with it when finally he did. A single finger circled briefly before pressing firmly inside and Boromir's muscles contracted without his permission, earning him a breathy moan from the Elf to rustle the hair at the back of his neck, and Boromir could hear the smirk in Legolas' voice as he said, "I might have guessed you would do well in any form of battle.

His own retort fell from his thoughts, forgotten, as the Elf seemed to crook the finger inside him somehow, drowning protests as a startling flood of pleasure washed over him with the deliberate slide of the finger within him. Only a few soft strokes, each making delight jump and quiver beneath his skin, and Legolas was withdrawing, moving to kneel behind him, his hands warm and possessive on Boromir's hips.

"Ah, no, do not shy from me now," Legolas whispered as Boromir tensed against him, his voice hardly a breath. "Show an ignorant Elf the strength of Gondor." Boromir did not reply, although he took a breath and forced his muscles to relax, feeling the Elf smile against his shoulder before he moved.

The first touch of Legolas' shaft, barely even pressure against him, had Boromir resisting the urge to flinch. He tightened his grip on the edge of the tub, unmoving as the pressure increased persistently. Warm blurts of breath tickled against his ear as Legolas panted, trying to impose his will over that of Boromir's unintentional resistance, and great though it seemed, stubbornly unwilling, his body finally yielded the battle and Legolas slid forward, just barely inside.

Boromir could not help shuddering, closing his eyes tightly and such feeling! An invasion, yes, forcing and stretching its way within his protesting body, a deep slide of hot pain mingled with such amazing sensation. The Elf was making such noises, almost keening as he pushed inward suddenly, deeply, and even the burn of his sudden thrust could not dim Boromir's very masculine pride that it was he who was dragging these strangled sounds from Legolas. A little roll of his hips, another, and Legolas stilled, his hands trembling where they gripped Boromir.

"Ah, so tight!" Legolas moaned, "Hold a moment." Then proved his strength when Boromir did not obey, his hands gripping Boromir's hips and forcing them to stillness. "Hold, I said! Do not move or I shall be finished before you even begin."

"It would seem Elves are the ones in need of strength," Boromir gasped, fighting against Legolas' grip, and then gasped again when Legolas slapped his flank sharply, his wet hand stunningly loud against the taut skin.

"I will show you my strength, if that is what you want," he said, his tone almost grim but Boromir had no time to reply as Legolas pushed into him almost savagely, a brutal taking that had him biting his lips against screams. He could not have imagined such feeling, struggling to find the leverage against slippery tile to meet Legolas' movements, and had he but known it would be like this he might have attacked the Elf himself.

His hands were cramping from trying to hold on, and Boromir draped his arms over the edge instead, gripping tightly and he rested his head on them, only trying to accept Legolas' growing ferocity, straining for more, and more, and he opened his eyes, staring at the wall on the other side of the room blankly and seeing from the corner of his eye, Aragorn, much closer than he had expected.

There was nothing of his calm from the previous night evident in him now, his eyes dark and his breath coming rapidly, and there was dim pride in that as well, that this sight could affect Aragorn so. A particularly fierce thrust had Boromir crying out, stunned that such pleasure could come from the feeling of being torn apart, and he saw his cry reflected in Aragorn's eyes, a flare of arousal.

So there was power in this yet, though he might be on his knees, and Boromir stopped trying to bite back his cries and reveled in it instead, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's, even as the other man seemed to tremble, his knuckles white where he gripped the rim behind him.

Legolas had lapsed into his own language, words blurring and catching on a cry with each deep lunge. He released Boromir's hips, reaching around and stroking the Man almost frantically, and only then did Boromir again close his eyes, unable to resist the peak any longer, coming in hot bursts of ecstasy as Legolas reached his own summit, his voice rising above Boromir as he thrust hard a last time, shoving Boromir against the side of the tub as he shivered through his own pleasure.

Boromir's strength finally failed him, unable to support both his weight and Legolas', and Boromir slipped downward, nearly to his chin in the water before he was caught and hauled upward. He was hardly able to gasp as Legolas finally slipped away from him and the odd discomfort made him realize how very sore he was going to be feeling the next day. It had been well worth it, he decided, leaning against the warm body next to him, and it was only when he felt the scrape of a beard against his temple that he realized it was not Legolas who had grabbed hold of him.

Startled, he opened his eyes and saw Aragorn looking down at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. Words failed him, and he simply lay there in the curve of Aragorn's arms, still struggling to catch his breath.

Aragorn raised a hand to Boromir's cheek, tracing the curve of his chin with a strange thoughtfulness. He leaned closer, and it almost seemed Aragorn would kiss him, yet he hesitated, seeming to change his mind, setting Boromir away from him.

He watched in confusion as Aragorn climbed from the tub in almost unseemly haste, sparing not a look for either of them as he struggled into his clothing, fighting to pull cloth over wet skin and the moment he was barely decent, Aragorn walked swiftly from the room, leaving Legolas and Boromir alone.

"Did I hurt you?" The gentle question startled Boromir, and he turned to see Legolas looking at him with soft concern. He realized then that he was very sore indeed, and he did not resist when Legolas slipped closer and began to deftly wash him, scrubbing him everywhere until the worst of his aches had faded, though his thoughts were still in a whirlwind.

"Perhaps it was we who offended him?" Boromir asked, bewildered at Aragorn's sudden departure, and though Legolas' hands tightened briefly on his shoulders, he did not offer a comment. After a moment's hesitation, Boromir pulled away long enough to gather a handful of soap and began returning the favor, and neither of them spoke of Aragorn again.

**


End file.
